


Bluff 'em

by woodenwashbucket



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: And he’s in over his head, Bank Robbery, Characterizations based largely on BTAS, Condiment King gets no respect, Counterfeit food is actually a huge and lucrative field of crime by the way, Everyone is some amount of afraid of the Joker, Gen, Gotham Rogues - Freeform, No editing we die like mne, The Joker is not actually very funny, poker game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodenwashbucket/pseuds/woodenwashbucket
Summary: The back room of the Iceberg Lounge hosts a private poker game for the villains of Gotham city. The real villains. The Joker challenges Condiment King to prove he belongs there.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/ Harleen Quinzel - Background, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel - Mentioned
Kudos: 24





	Bluff 'em

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a slightly frenzied sprint while procrastinating on my NaNoWriMo project this past fall. I have not a single clue where the idea came from.

There was a fuss at the door to the private room in the back of the Iceberg Lounge. It was generally agreed among those with access to that room that they could each post one – and only one – henchman at the door. Ivy tended to put a plant there instead, of course, but as she wasn’t there that night that didn’t factor in.

“What’s the fuss?” Two-Face growled. “I’m trying to play a hand here.”

The various-liveried henchmen spread out a bit, revealing a disheveled, mousy-looking man.

“Condiment King?” Oswald sniffed haughtily. “I assure you, my good sir, that you have no place in this particular poker game. The nickel slots may be more to your liking.” He waved a hand at the door.

“I’ve got just as much right to be here as you,” Condiment King insisted. “I’m a recognized villain. I’ve gone toe to toe with Batman-“

“So have half the thugs in this town,” Two-Face said, dismissive.

“I’ve escaped Arkham-“

“Who hasn’t?” Scarecrow asked. He rested his head on his hand with an expression of great interest. “But do go on with your list of accomplishments, my boy.”

“I’m older than you are, _Jonathan_ -“

“Now, now, friends,” the Joker broke in. He had a gleeful note in his voice. “I’m sure Condi here has a list of successful crimes as long as his arm! Come on, tell you what, how about you come play a hand and regale us with…say…the story of the last time you robbed a place.”

Everyone else, including Condiment King and the henchmen, looked at Joker with deep suspicion. He looked back at them with an air of anticipation not unlike someone who’s just handed a friend a gag gift at a birthday party in public. Condiment King seemed to screw his courage to the sticking place, though, and took a chair. Penguin sniffed again.

“A new deal, gentlemen.”

As the cards were dealt, Condiment King explained how the month before, he’d robbed a shipment of imported canned Italian tomatoes down at the docks.

“Tomatoes?” Scarecrow asked, tilting his head. “I’ll take two, dealer.”

“Expensive tomatoes,” Condiment King insisted. “They’ve got a protected regional label under EU regs and these guys have figured out a counterfeit that gets past the current FDA test-“

“ _Counterfeit_ tomatoes?”

“It’s…” Condiment King trailed off under the withering stares of the others, and folded on the first round of betting.

“Oh, Condi, don’t be glum.” The Joker dug a bony elbow into his side, and he jumped. “Just because you stole some fake food doesn’t mean you’re completely _incapable_ of being a real villain!”

Condiment King scooted away and stood up, angry.

“I see Harley isn’t here tonight, Joker. Does that have something to do with how Poison Ivy isn’t either?” He blanched as soon as he said it, but Joker just rocked his chair back on two legs with a gleeful scream.

“Oh! Condi, you’re on fire tonight! In this mood, I bet even you could knock over a bank!”

“Maybe I could.” Condiment King scrambled to try to save face.

“Maybe you could,” Joker breathed, bringing his chair down on all four legs with a thump and pinning down the unfortunate crook with an unhinged stare. “Ok, let’s see you do it. Tonight. Right now.”

“I- I don’t have any banks cased right now…”

“Condi,” Joker said, in a soothing tone that had the others edging away. “Surely you don’t need that? Just stick the place up. It should be easy for a real villain.” He smiled nastily. “Unless you aren’t a real villain after all, which would be just so unfortunate. You’ve heard what happens to people who get in on this card game under _false pretenses_.”

Condiment King scanned the room, but it was clear none of the others were going to help him out. Scarecrow was just watching, fascinated and wary. Penguin looked mildly disgusted. Two-Face started flipping his coin as Condiment King watched.

“Fine,” he said, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Fine. Tonight. Keep an ear on the news.” He turned and swept through the henchmen at the door with, admittedly, some dignity.

Joker turned back to the table. “Another hand?” he asked brightly.

Condiment King stopped at his base to change into costume and grab his favorite ketchup gun. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he was too pissed off and too scared to stop now. Besides, the most likely thing to happen was he’d wind up back in Arkham, which wouldn’t mess with any of his current long-term plans. Mostly because he didn’t have any current long-term plans, but that was beside the point. The ketchup tank was full, his goggles were on, his tire pressure was good – it was time to roll.

The response when he burst into the 9th Street branch of First Gotham Independent was not particularly encouraging. At his “This is a stick-up, so stick ‘em up or prepare to be sticky!” everyone jumped in alarm, then saw who it was and mostly went back to their business. A guard strolled over to him.

“Condiment King, what are you doing here?” he asked. The dismissiveness in his tone hit some kind of nerve the crook hadn’t even known he had. He cracked the guard over the head with his gun as hard as he could, knocking him out in one hit. In the startled hush after, he raised the gun threateningly and bellowed.

“Who’s going to open the vault for me?”

Another guard rushed at him, but Condiment King, improvising wildly, aimed at him and kept talking.

“This is no ordinary ketchup! The acidity in tomatoes is enough to eat through human skin and flesh if properly concentrated. I tested this particular batch by entirely dissolving a whole dog in my production vat! And I’m not talking about a _hot dog_.”

The guard stopped, watching him warily.

“No, I’m not bluffing,” Condiment King said, trying to put as much of Joker’s unhinged homicidal menace in his voice as possible. Mercifully, his voice didn’t crack. “But if you’d like to be my first human test subject, I’d _relish_ the opportunity.”

The guard slowly raised his hands in surrender.

“Get him,” Condiment King ordered, gesturing at the unconscious guard. “Stay in front of me. Now _who is going to open the vault?_ ”

He only took one bag of money, preferring to keep the robbery as short as possible, and peeled out in his Condiment Car just before the police arrived.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” he muttered, dazed by his success.

When he got back to his base, he carefully put the car in park, carefully shut off the engine, and sat there shaking for a good ten minutes or so before getting out.

“I am never doing that again,” he promised himself. He didn’t even know what to _do_ with that much stolen money. He was the _Condiment King_ , for goodness sake. He stole _counterfeit tomatoes_ and held up _diners_. He didn’t rob _banks_.

He groaned when he realized he was going to have to go back to the Iceberg Lounge to show off some of his haul. Why had he even gone in the first place? He couldn’t remember why it had seemed like a good idea.

He changed back into his nicer (ish) clothes and put two bundles of cash, still with their currency bands on, in his pocket. He berated himself the entire way back to the club, trying to figure out how he’d gotten into this mess.

At least he was out of it now. He just had to go to the back room, flash some cash, and skedaddle. And then he was _never doing it again_.

Oswald met him at the front of the club, looking vaguely impressed but still dismissive – like someone who’d seen someone else’s dog do a very complicated trick.

“I must say, I did not think you had it in you,” he commented, leading the way to the private room. “However, never let it be said a Cobblepot is unwilling to revise his opinions when presented with firm evidence.”

“Thanks,” Condiment King said. It seemed like the thing to say.

Back in the private room, a few more faces had turned up. Riddler, Harley Quinn, the Clock King, and Roxie Rocket were all there, lounging around and waiting for him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the crook of the evening,” Penguin said, vaguely gesturing at Condiment King who, somewhat uneasy, took a bow. There was applause, ranging from polite to enthusiastic, from everyone. The henchmen all did golf claps.

“How’d you do it?” Two-Face growled.

“I bluffed ‘em,” Condiment King said, attempting a nonchalant shrug. “I said I’d concentrated the ketchup in my gun down so it was acidic enough to burn-“

He cut off, and turned as one with all the others when Joker and Harley started whooping with laughter.

“Oh, Condi!” Joker gasped. “Oh, I- Aha ha ha hahaaaaaaa!”

“It’s too much, Mista J,” Harley squeeled in delight. Joker grinned around at everyone, explaining through bursts of laughter.

“You didn’t come- ahee hee hee, didn’t come here by accident tonight, Condi! Remember that blond in the, ha ha hah, in the bar?”

Harley Quinn stopped laughing to put on a more serious, lower-pitched voice.

“I just think if some of these lower-class people like the Condiment King could get some respect from the more important villains they’d be more interesting,” she said, and dissolved into giggles.

“There was a lot more, of course,” Joker said, wiping his eyes. “It took quite a bit to get you here, and then when you did!” he joined Harley in giggling. Everyone else had drawn slightly away from the pair. “You even mentioned she- oh hah hah ahaaaa – she wasn’t here! She was-“ He broke off, laughing, and poked Harley’s arm.

“I was filling your ketchup tank with some of Mista J’s special acid!” she squealed, and fell on the table laughing.

“If you’d gone in shooting – hee hee hee – you’d have, you’d have killed everyone at the bank! Bah hah ha hahahahaaaaaa,” Joker managed. “It’s a good thing, oh my goodness, a good thing you decided to bluff ‘em, Condi! Hee hee hee! Because you – ha! – you weren’t bluffing! Ah ha ha hahahahahaha!”


End file.
